


Softness is a Virtue

by lonniek



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Pet Names, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 18:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: Interviewers are just doing their job: asking probing questions for the hottest gossip. But sometimes they push too far, and sometimes all Michael wants to be is soft.





	Softness is a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Busybee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Busybee/gifts).



> Content warning: brief mentions of self-harm during an interview
> 
> Thanks always to Jo, my 5SOS muse :*

Calum knows Michael. So many people mean that to say they know them well enough to buy them a birthday or a Christmas gift. But Calum knows Michael; his favorite color is light blue, he prefers his egg and toast sans vegemite. He knows when Michael gets up for breakfast, he’ll inevitably grab the wrong box of cereal, look at it and put it back. Calum knows Michael as he knows himself. Michael is an extension, another limb that he doesn’t know how to function without.

So when Michael trudges into Calum’s house and falls face first into a couch pillow, he knows by the weight of the drop that it’s not just another long day. He doesn’t even bother to pull off his jacket or take off his SnapBack. Michael sighs into the couch so forcefully that it vibrates like a mouth humming against a fan.

It started with the interview; Calum knew that much. Some interviewers, for all their years of training and journalism certificates, have no concept of tact. Michael sat between Luke and Calum, pressed back into the couch so Luke could cross his legs over with enough room. He’d fidgeted with one of the bracelets he and Crystal made for each other a few weeks ago—a simple braided line punctuated with letter beads.

Most of the interview was fine. They all cringed at a couple personal questions and laughed them off, changing the subject with boisterous giggles and sideways glances. Typical. The journalist, Peggy or Annie or Billie something or other, moved into fashion and how the boys’ look had shifted with their sound, and what it meant to move forward with their new aesthetic.

It was actually a really good question. Calum hums and plops down on top of Michael’s back. Michael wheezes and pretends to struggle for breath. The silence here between them is nothing like the crackling silence between the boys and their interviewer.

At first, it was typical. Luke talked about how as they grew, their sound had to evolve, and the tone of the music really influenced their style. Calum chimed in about removing the stigma of men having to look and perform a certain way on stage. Ashton gave his two cents about not letting society dictate how comfortable they are in their skin, after having done that for several years growing up.

Then everyone turned to Michael.

“Well, I think I’ve been true to my style since I was a kid. Of course, it’s evolved now, and I’m not so caught up in having to ‘look punk rock’, especially with the direction of the new album and songs like Moving Along or our new single, Valentine. So yeah, I think we’ve all kind of just refined the style that we’ve grown up with, and I think that’s important.” The sound bite was great, and everyone murmured along in agreement before turning back to the journalist. She stared for a moment at her cue card, then back at the boys.

“So, Michael,” she started. The shift in her tone of voice made Calum tense up beside him. Luke draped a hand across Michael’s wrist. It was the same inflection as when she’d asked Luke about who inspired him in heartbroken love songs, pressing for names of exes. Michael nodded, anyway, looked her in the eye like a good interviewee should, and waited.

“You say that your style has remained similar throughout the years. I will say, though, even though all of you are really _rockin’_ out with the rings and the bling,” she paused to chuckle at the camera, “your fans and I have all noticed that your stack of bracelets and wristbands just keeps expanding! Now, you’ve been pretty open about your mental health struggles and it being somewhat of a catalyst for songs on the album. A lot of fans want to know what you’re hiding something under all that arm swag, and why we never see you without them! Any secrets you want to throw our way?” Crystal’s bracelet clacked against the metal of a cuff when he dropped it, but nobody moved to even acknowledge the sound. Someone in production cleared their throat. Even the camera crew waited with baited breath to see how the band would respond.

It wasn’t the first time the self-harm question had been danced around. But this was different. Though she never said the words, the question in her eyes, dedicated to “reporting the truth” was crystal clear: are you hiding scars under your clothes? He’s never answered it, never even pretended to consider giving them even a little insight into any part of his private life like that, regardless of the answer. The silence stretched on longer. A cameraman shifted in his seat and cut his eyes toward the producer, a silent plea for them to move on or cut to commercial. But then Ashton broke the silence for them.

“You know, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’ve been through some really tough moments in our lives. But as a band, we’ve really been able to nurture and grow each other, which is part of what makes us so special to each other. We aren’t just a band—this is my family. And like we said earlier, our personal fashion choices have really become a style near and dear to us, and I, for one, applaud Michael for sticking to his dream of being a Gerard Way wannabe!” The joke landed. Michael managed to titter and Calum and Luke laughed over the awkward sound to kill the rest of the tension.

“Now that’s one band I wish we could get back together to play with,” Luke said, dragging the conversation away. Michael said nothing else during the interview, only pulled his sleeves up over his hands, toyed with his bracelets and smiled when necessary.

The boys had never been better at presenting the interviewer with a professional cold shoulder. They each reached out in turn to shake hands, but when it came to Michael’s turn, Calum jumped on his back and kicked him in the sides.

“Hi-yah, good steed! To the stagecoach immediately!” Michael lurched at the weight and dropped his hands to catch the back of Calum’s things. He neighed and galloped away, leaving Billie/Peggy/Annie with her hand outstretched and a frozen newscaster smile. Zoe stepped in and grabbed her hand, thanking her again for her time as the boys raced back to the bus. Nobody talked about it after.

Michael shoves, and Calum topples off of him, landing on the back of Michael’s foot and the couch. They twist and turn under and around each other until they’re free. Calum leans into the corner of the couch and Michael tucks his feet under his legs and drops his head into Calum’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says after a minute. Their breathing falls into a matching rhythm. Michael doesn’t have to guess what it’s about. He shrugs.

“It happens. I know that they don't mean any harm…” Michael sighs instead of finishing his sentence. Calum knows exactly how much harm it actually does.

“Yeah.”

“You know that they’re going to tear it apart no matter what I say.” Michael rolls his head down, curling into Calum’s chest. Calum brings his hand up over Michael’s shoulders and knocks into his hat. He pulls the bill of the cap and sends it flying across the room.

“Yeah, I know.” They sit in silence again. They’re good at that, silence. Because Calum knows how to entertain himself, and Michael is content to sit in the quiet for days on end, plugging away at a song or a video game until someone reminded him to eat. Normally Calum. Calum is good at reminding Michael of the things that he needs to know. And Michael does the same for him. Because they’re a part of each other. “Wanna play FIFA?” Michael snorts.

“You’re the only one who ever wants to play that stupid game.”

“Yeah, well at least I don’t still act like a twelve-year-old playing Fortnite all day.” He shoves and Michael loses balance. Calum steadies him and they hold fast to each other for a moment, looking. They’ve been this close to each other a million and one times; stared at each other for hours and days and weeks and months and years. And now they’re looking at each other, the same way that they always do, and Calum feels different. Michael’s eyes are soft in a way he’s never seen before. He looks small and shattered.

“Mikey?” Calum drops his hands, wrapping them around Michael’s elbows. Michael takes hold of Calum’s forearms, gripping like he’s trying not to fall apart. “What’s wrong, mate?” He knows Michael is going to open his mouth and say "nothing," like he always does. Calum beats him. “What’s _actually_ wrong?” Michael sucks in a deep breath and speaks:

“It’s so exhausting for my mental health struggles to be used for another scoop. It would be one thing if they really wanted to know so that it could help somebody. I know some of them do actually help. But it’s always just the same fucking thing. Why don’t you dress like the rest of the band? Why don’t you wear rings and necklaces like the rest of the band? Why do you always wear so much this or so many that, and for what? For them to put out and feed me to the wolves? And what’s worse is that everyone expects me to be this hard, metal figure that they can just ask whatever they want because ‘oh he’s got no soul anyway because he dyes his hair and only wears black’.

“But I’m not. I’m not hard. I’m not metal. I’m a person. I’m a real, _actual_ person and sometimes I just need to be—”

“Soft,” Calum finishes. Michael’s pink in the face and hasn’t stopped talking to take a breath since he opened his mouth. He takes a deep breath, and then another until Calum sees the bright shine of tears in Michael’s eyes. Michael sniffles. “It’s okay, Mikey, you can cry.” He does, then, drops his forehead against Calum’s clavicle and _sobs._ Calum hesitates for a quick second before wrapping his arms around Michael’s back, one hand rubbing up and down. Michael hiccups and chokes on another cry. Calum sighs and rests his chin on top of Michael’s head. Tears already run in thin lines down his chest. Some continue down to his stomach, the others absorbed into his t-shirt.

Calum is lost for words. It’s not like this has never happened before—to either of them. Of course, they’ve cried on each other, fallen asleep in each others’ arms and woken up hoarse from tears. But Calum doesn’t know what to say because Michael is clinging to him in a way he never has before. It’s desperate and raw—like Michael has to hold on like this or there will be nothing left when he’s done.

“All right,” he says into Michael’s ear. He cradles him, pulls Michael’s cheek into his chest and curls around him, creating a wall between him and the rest of the world. Michael curls into Calum’s embrace and sniffs. “Okay, Mikey, okay. We’re okay, yeah?” Michael’s sobs quiet, but the tears keep coming. He still shivers, fragile and open and afraid. Calum kisses the top of his head.

“I don’t know, Cal,” he admits. He looks up into Calum’s eyes, one of the places Calum knows he’s safe. “I know we want this. I want this. I love this, our lives, our friends, you.” Calum stops breathing. “And I just want a chance to not have to be this person they’ve made me out to be. Just once.” Calum’s heart breaks. He doesn’t look away. Michael nuzzles into his hand and exhales. “Just once.”

“I know. I—” Calum pauses. He doesn’t know, not really. “Well, I don’t know. Not at all, really. Not more than what you’ve told me. But I feel it.” Calum strokes his thumb across Michael’s face and breathes. It’s calm now, even with Michael’s remaining sniffles. Calum burns. “I feel it and I wanna help.” Michael smiles, just a tiny thing, and Calum feels Michael’s cheek rise in his hand. He drops his forehead, brings their heads together. Michael sighs, and Calum knows his eyes are closed.

“How could you help me, Cal? It’s just something I have to get used to. 'Thick skin' and all.” Calum shakes his head, just a little.

“You may have to put up with it, sometimes.” He feels Michael cringe. “In public. Because people can be real…insensitive sometimes. We all know that. It comes with the territory. But you don’t have to put up with it here.” Calum takes Michael’s hand and presses both of them against Michael’s chest. “Right here, Mikey. You don’t have to have thick skin here, huh? You never have. All you have to do is just relax and be you. I’ve got you, okay?” Michael nods. Calum’s heart leaps.

“Would you…nevermind.” Calum shakes his head.

“No, Mikey, what? Anything, okay? Anything.” Michael looks up, hands still entwined. Calum presses his lips against their combined fists.

“Can you just…” Calum’s mind throws a thousand thoughts around. Can he what? Go away? Not let go? Pretend this never happened? Calum hopes that it isn’t any of that. He _wants_ Michael to say yes, to say that Calum can help, needs it, even. They stare at each other, less than inches apart. Calum feels Michael’s soft breath in his face. His own blows tendrils of Michael’s straggling hairs up and down. His lips look soft, and despite the tears, Michael is beautiful. Calum _knows_ Michael. He knows what anticipation looks like on him. Calum looks and he sees _hope._ “Will you kiss me?”

Calum pulls back, just enough to really look into Michael’s eyes. Only trust. The same look Calum has on his face, he knows. “Yes, absolutely, Pet.” Calum brushes his thumb across Michael’s cheek again, flushing.

“Pet?” Michael asks, but he doesn’t sound offended. Just curious.

“Unless you don’t like it?” Michael shakes his head.

“I like it. Will you kiss me now?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” And then Calum obliges, closing the millimeter of distance between them until their lips touch. Michael’s lips aren’t as soft as Calum thought they would be. They’re not rough by any means, but Calum can tell where Michael bites his lip when he gets anxious in interviews. None of that matters, though, because they fit against his lips perfectly, slide smoothly across each other. Calum drops his hands to Michael’s thighs, one hand squeezing and the other for balance. Michael inhales. Calum sighs.

“I can be soft,” Michael confirms, pressing his lips against Calum’s again.

“Absolutely. Absolutely you can be soft,” Calum murmurs against his mouth. “You can be anything you want to be here, Pet. Anything at all. You want to be soft?” Michael just whines and nods, opens his mouth for Calum. Calum draws his hand up to Michael’s stomach, pulls him closer. Their knees touch. Michael cups Calum’s face in his hands and moans. Calum’s hands just kind of don’t stop after that. They’re everywhere: on Michael’s neck, pressed up against the small of his back, in his hair. Michael tosses his head back when Calum scratches down the back of his scalp.

“Cal,” he whispers. Calum licks a stripe down the column of Michael’s throat and buries his hands in his hair. He doesn’t pull hard, just enough that he exposes further the column of Michael’s neck.

“Yeah, Mikey. You like my hands in your hair?” Michael tilts his chin down in the slightest nod. Calum runs his hands through again, scratches a little harder, watches Michael melt into his arms. “You like when I pet you, Pet? Pets for Pet.” Michael grins and Calum bites under his jaw. They move together like one unit, the same unit they’ve always been. Michael’s left shoulder drops, and Calum knows it’s because he wants to collapse inward, to be held. Because Calum _knows_ Mikey. He knows to hold out his arms with the right one just a little further out because he always sways left. When Michael’s chest touches his, Calum knows to roll into his left because Michael likes to face into the couch if he’s going to be the little spoon.

“What do we do now?” Michael asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Calum’s fingertips slide up and down Michael’s forearm in lazy, paintbrush motions. He doesn’t stop at Michael’s question, just shrugs and hums into Michael’s ear.

“Now we take a nap?” Calum suggests. A nap sounds like a great solution: they can sleep off the intensity and come back refreshed, or at least ready to eat something.

“No, Calum. Not _now,_ now. But _later_ now. You know well enough what I mean.” For all his snark, when he tries to do it in his small, sleepy voice, it tends to lose its effect.

“I know what you mean, Pet.” Michael relaxes again with his back against Calum’s chest. “And I really don’t know. Whatever you want to do.”

“We can’t—I mean we can’t do this publicly or they’ll—with me and Crystal, too, it—”

“Whoa, hey.” Calum drapes his arm over Michael’s hip. “Shh, Mikey,” he coos, and goosebumps prickle against his skin. “I never said we had to do anything public. Not at all. I love Crystal, you know that. And you love her and she loves you. And as long as she doesn’t mind…” Michael shakes his head.

“Me and Crys talked a while ago about it. Not just about you, I mean. But about being able to be with other people, too. She won’t mind. Not with you. She'll be happy.” It’s a comforting thought, that Crystal trusts him with Michael, with this. And that Michael trusts him. That’s always been a given, though. The same way that the sky is blue and the grass is green, Calum trusts Michael and Michael trusts Calum. Because Calum knows Michael.

“Well, as long as she doesn’t mind,” he begins again, settling in. He speaks into the back of Michael’s neck like a microphone, lips whispering across the fine hairs. “Then we can do this, just us, whenever you need. You’re always going to be my Pet, okay Mikey?” Michael smiles and Calum can feel it. He squeezes and Michael grunts, the wind knocked out of him. And just like that, they’re Cal and Mikey again, partners in crime.

“What if I wanted other stuff, too?” Michael is bolder now, now that he knows it’s real, that it’s not just some fever dream to pass the next time he wakes up.

“Like what stuff?” Calum grunts. He’s almost asleep, nestling into Michael’s neck as a makeshift pillow.

“Like more than kissing,” Michael says like it’s supposed to be the most obvious thing in the world. “Like blowjobs and fucking and when I need to be...soft. I don’t, I’m not sure what I'll need then, but that, too.” Calum pats Michael’s arm and kisses behind his ear.

“I already said anything you want, Mikey. Doesn’t that mean anything?” Michael just nods.

“So what now?”

“ _Now?”_ Calum says, closing his eyes and yawning big. “Now we nap.”

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr as [queerlylonnie](https://queerlylonnie.tumblr.com)


End file.
